


i won't let go of your hand

by unorgaynized



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, Gay Panic, Gen, Kids growing up, Sparring practice, overly dramatic gays, tween lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22957555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorgaynized/pseuds/unorgaynized
Summary: On Dragonstone, Melony decides that Rhaena needs to learn something of sparring. Featuring some minor gay panic, minor pining discussions of marriages, and fathers coming in at almost the worst time.
Relationships: Melony Piper/Rhaena Targaryen (Daughter of Aenys I)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Femslash February





	i won't let go of your hand

“Your wrist is wobbling.” Melony Piper held a freckled finger to Rhaena’s pale wrist. “You must hold your sword steady.” 

“This is no sword,” Rhaena retorted, flushed with the exertion of holding herself taut in the position Melony had twisted her into, leaning forward with one leg off the ground, arm extended with the lead-cored truncheon in hand. “Call it practice for a sword all you like, but I still refuse to believe that this will help.”

“No, _my princess_?” She arched her copper brows and Rhaena stiffened: she truly hated it when Melony called her by her title, as that meant she’d ruined something. Again. Her face colored in shame.

“You’re having me stand here! Like a fool.” Rhaena knew she was acting the fool again, and doubtless she looked it too, stuffed into her brother’s too-small breeches, her breastband, with one of Aegon’s shirts abandoned in the corner. Her legs stuck out, too pale and too long, unsteady on even paler feet. Too thin too, compared to Melony’s. Melony was _beautiful_ in a vivid sort of way, with red hair, freckles, dark eyes bright as Balerion’s scales, muscled in thin arms and legs that promised stockier strength. She was lively and bold, and had stolen Rhaena’s breath when her brother had sent her to Dragonstone as a handmaiden for Rhaena.

“I would never say such a thing.” Melony examined the truncheon she held. She lashed out with the end of it, catching Rhaena in the belly. Rhaena held in a gasp, fighting to keep her balance. “Better, then. I’d rather you stand like a fool than look a fool on the floor.”

Even in her own pair of Aegon’s breeches and her own chest bound in older linen, Melony still didn’t look half as ridiculous as Rhaena felt. The other girl was solidly built and confident in her bare feet, her hair tied back with a tie of leather. A silver moon weighed down the knot, shining bright against Melony’s hair like a streak of mischief. 

“I’ve seen my brother practice.” Rhaena lowered her foot onto the solid ground, waiting to see if Melony would strike again. She kept her eyes on Melony’s bare stomach to see if it would twitch. That was best, was it not? She could not look any higher. Must not look any higher. Their master-at-arms was always calling for Aegon to look at his opponent, but she couldn’t meet Melony’s eyes, or look at her chest for any signs of movement, though she would look there if she was dancing with Dreamfyre. “He was never made to move like this.”

“Mayhaps I’m better than Ser Corbray. He is old, after all, and everyone knows he taught your uncle and liked him well.” Melony’s stomach flexed, and the wood lashed out again. Rhaena caught it on hers scant inches from her hands with a _crack!_ , feeling it ring. “Good,” Melony breathed, pleased. 

Something warm curled down into Rhaena’s belly, along with the absurd urge to color even more fiercely. Her mouth spread into a smile at the faint praise, and Rhaena had no wish to dismiss it. _She_ did that. Melony was pleased with _her_. Her eyes flicked up, catching first on Melony’s worn breastband that did little to pretend that it was new, yellowed from use and with knots more loose than crisp. Melony would need a new one soon, and Rhaena should not have noticed that, much like she should not have noticed how soft Larissa’s mouth was, how smooth her face under Rhaena’s hands, or the way Sam looked so beautiful when she swam.

“Do your hands hurt?” Melony asked abruptly, and Rhaena colored, tearing her eyes away, flicking up to meet Melony’s before dropping away in shame. How much had Melony seen, had she noticed? Melony would be disappointed in her, surely. She would prefer Samantha Stokesworth, of course. Sam was lively and beautiful, olive-skinned from her Braavosi mother and had a gap between two of her teeth. Sam was the most beautiful when daring, cheeks flushed and wisps of dark hair flying about. 

“No,” Rhaena said quickly. “I’m fine,” she flexed her hands. They ached, but only a little. Rhaena was used to holding onto Dreamfyre’s ropes, enough so that it had hardened her hands. They weren’t as rough as Melony’s thrillingly calloused palms, which Rhaena had only felt for the barest moments, but they could stand something. She could not be weaker than she already was in front of Melony.

“Then let’s spar. Your balance is good enough, though I suppose you’re practiced in riding your dragon. You have to clench your muscles when you’re riding, don’t you? Hold your belly taut?” Without giving Rhaena a chance to respond, she moved closer, dancing her free hand on Rhaena’s stomach. 

Rhaena wanted to run. Rhaena wanted to sink through the floor and become one of Dragonstone’s statues. Rhaena wanted to never leave and for Melony to keep her hand there forever. She was sure Melony could feel her thoughts, somehow. She could not think, not with Melony’s hand brushing against her. Melony could feel her breathing, she was sure. It was good if she held her stomach tight, wasn’t it? She had gone far too long without speaking, she knew. How long had it been? “Yes?”

Melony laughed, drawing away easily, though her own face seemed a little ruddier, more sun-kissed. “Then I’ll take it easy on you.” She skipped back, holding her truncheon neatly. “Parry!”

Rhaena thrust up her club in what she hoped was at a close enough angle, and Melony’s crashed upon it, singing back. “Block!” Block, block, that was— she caught Melony’s truncheon, thrust it back. “Attack!”

 _Attack?_ That was, that was— Rhaena adjusted her hold, aiming towards Melony. She didn’t want to hit her, she truly didn’t, if she hit Melony she would not know what she would do, weep perhaps-- yet Melony caught it all the same, with a smile on her lips and laughter in her eyes. 

“You won’t land a _hit_ on me, Rhaena, and I’ve had worse than a weighted truncheon from an unpracticed hand. My brothers and I use _live steel_ in our bouts. You needn’t worry.”

“I’m not used to weapons that can’t devastate,” Rhaena tried for a joke, and was rewarded with Melony laughing.

“Well, don’t turn Dreamfyre on me! This is practice, _block_!” Melony was bright and cheerful, dismissive of the threat Rhaena’s dragon presented. She had always been like that. Larissa had not been frightened overmuch, confident in her Valyrian blood when she was around Rhaena. Rhaena had thought only the blood of the dragon could stand so near without flinching, but Melony had stroked Dreamfyre’s nose, holding it as she might a horse. Dreamfyre had tolerated it well, showing neither fang nor claw. Not even bold Sam had been willing to touch Dreamfyre before Rhaena had coaxed her to do so. Melony had lost some distant family on the Field of Fire, a Western great-uncle or something of the like, and still, she feared little of Rhaena’s dragon.

Rhaena thrust up her truncheon, rewarded with the _thud_ of a solid hit. “I can swear to that. Dreamfyre will defend you as she does me.” Melony would have to be by her side for that, though, as Dreamfyre and Rhaena could not be so separated. 

“Then I shall simply have to stay by your side. Even after your father sits the throne and marries you off to— who do you think it will be? Lord Lannister has sons, and Lord Rogar is not too much older than us. He’s a cousin too, isn’t he? Or Lord Tyrell, they say he’s fair of face but has naught in his skull.” Melony seemed unbothered, and seemed to—

Rhaena swallowed. Melony knew her too well at times, almost if she could peer into Rhaena’s mind like a book _._ “I am the blood of the dragon. Lord Rogar is six years older, but his grandfather Orys was only a seed, if the rumor is true.” She didn’t want to talk about marriage. It would probably be Aegon anyway, and she didn’t want him following them around. She didn’t even want to think of him here. It was great fortune Uncle Maegor was wed to his Hightower wife, though Rhaena doubted that the woman would last much longer. No, it was best she be wed to Aegon, rather than be Maegor’s bride. She was a Targaryen princess after all, the first in the dynasty. She could not be wed off to some common Westerosi lord, not the oldest grandchild and beloved granddaughter of King Aegon the Conqueror. 

“Tell me when you do marry, or when your father decides it.” Melony met Rhaena’s eyes, then dropped her own. “We’re both of us maids flowered and we’ll be women grown in a couple years. I can get myself sent to where you are, stay with you. My brother, he’ll be pleased to keep me where I would like. It’ll be easier if I also marry, but I don’t want to. I won’t need to if you marry in the Reach, because the Leffords and the Crakehalls will put me up. If you’re in the Riverlands, I could stay at home.”

Rhaena’s blood ran cold. “ _Melony._ ”

“Don’t.” Melony met her gaze with a crooked smile. “Please don’t say it. I know I’m not Sam, and I know I’m not Lady Larissa, but I thought, all the same. I’ll leave if you want me to, but—”

“No!” Rhaena’s voice cracked. “I don’t, it’s not that, I don’t want to talk about marriage. I don’t want to think about getting married, I don’t want to think about you getting married, I don’t want to—”

“You don’t? You don’t want me to marry?” Melony’s voice filled with a sickening kind of hope that twisted at Rhaena. She hadn’t meant to say that, had to? All she wanted was—

“I—” she couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. She was nearly three-and-ten, she should be able do this. Say this. She knew this. She’d always known this. Still, she could lay no claim on Melony. It would be so terribly unfair, when Melony could not lay the same claim, or expect anything near the same for Rhaena herself. Rhaena had to wed, had to lie under a man some day in the future and give him children. It seemed so far off and distant, almost impossible to see as a reality. 

“Rhaena?” A warm hand wrapped around hers. “Do you like me? May I. . .?”

“ _Yes.”_ The word tore out before Rhaena could think any better of it, and Melony pressed her mouth to Rhaena’s and Rhaena closed her eyes and it was— it was—

Well. Rhaena didn’t truly know how to kiss, other than that one time with Larissa. It was different, and she liked it. Melony’s lips were chapped and there was mint on her breath when she lightly parted their lips. Rhaena fought off giggles. They, they were kissing, and it felt good, there was something swooping in her stomach, rising her to the top of the sky. She was soaring, but her feet were fixed firmly to the ground, not gripping Dreamfyre. She let her truncheon fall, taking Melony’s other hand, and Melony let her own fall, and there might as well have been nothing but the two of them.

She could feel Melony’s breathing, and she could feel Melony’s heartbeat. If she could feel Melony’s, Melony could feel hers. Could Melony feel how quickly her heart was beating, though there seemed to be years between each pound? She drew apart, opening her eyes. Melony’s eyes crashed open, worry spreading them wide.

“Princess Rhae—”

“Thank you,” Rhaena breathed, her mouth curling up into a wide grin as she squeezed Melony’s hands. “I loved it. I’d be very happy to do that again, if you are.”

“If you truly would be,” Melony began, “I would certainly—”

The door flew open, and Rhaena dropped Melony’s hands. She couldn’t be seen to be to—

“Your Highness!” Melony started to bow, quickly changing to a curtsey. “Prince Aenys.”

Relief thudded like an arrow into Rhaena’s chest. Her father. Only her father, thank the gods.

“Are you alright? Quite alright?” His purple eyes were wide, worry etched into every line on his face. “Ser Staunton said he heard crashes.” His eyes darted over the two of them before darting away, as if to preserve their modesty. “Why—what is going on—”

“We’re doing acrobatics, Your Highness,” Melony blurted. “I was only showing Princess Rhaena how to balance on her shoulders, I fell a few times, that was it.” She grew more confident as she spoke, though enough uncertainty was in her voice to line her words with an edge. “I thought, only, riding a dragon can be like riding a horse, and you must be able to stay upright? I had no intentions to insult a dragon. I only wanted to practice with Princess Rhaena.”

“Ah.” Rhaena’s father seemed puzzled. “I suppose that makes a sort of sense, but what is with— are those Aegon’s breeches? Why do you have them?”

“I stole them,” Rhaena said quickly. She couldn’t let the blame fall on Melony, couldn’t have another friend be sent away. Not like Larissa, sent off to be married. “I thought, only it would be worse to do it in skirts and have them falling all over us. It was all me, Father. I told Me—Lad— Melony,” she stumbled over her words, over whether to address Melony as a lady. “That they were some guard’s. I didn’t think Aegon would miss them, truly.”

“And your . . .” her father paused, as if weighing each word. Rhaena couldn’t breathe. “Indecency?”

“Your Highness,” Melony seemed confident now, and Rhaena tried to breathe with her. “If I might?” She waited until Rhaena’s royal father inclined her head before she stretched out her arms over her head and bent backwards until first her fingertips, and then her palms, came to rest on the floor. “If I had a shirt on, Your Highness, I could not have the princess see how I did this.” Melony let herself drop to the ground, then swung her legs up and folded her arms in a single easy motion, balancing herself on her shoulders, head, and folded arms. “The shirt would fall over our eyes like this.”

“I suppose,” said Rhaena’s father, still sounding quite confused. “And the truncheons?”

Rhaena’s mouth fell. They were doomed now, surely doomed, unless—

“To learn herding so that Princess Rhaena might feed her Dreamfyre on her own,” Melody claimed quickly. “I had tried to find poles, but the truncheons were all that I could find in this room, but I had—”

“Ser Staunton said he saw you carrying them in, Lady Melony.” Her father’s voice was final, definite. 

“Ser Staunton must be mistaken,” Rhaena’s treacherous mouth said before she could think of another explanation. “Lady Melony and I found these in the closet, Father. I promise.”

“You did? Truly?” Her father’s eyes searched hers, and Rhaena held her breath. She would never be able to lie so baldly to her mother, but her father had a softer spot for her than he did his other children. She was his first child, after all, his first daughter. She was named for his mother, and had made the Conqueror weep when he held her for the first time. 

“I swear to it,” Rhaena said. She pressed the smile from her mouth, the one that came so easily when she told a falsehood, fighting the urge to giggle. 

Melony, blessed friend that she was, sketched a curtsy. “As do I, Your Highness. It would be treason to lie to the next king to sit upon the Iron Throne.”

“I suppose it would be,” Rhaena’s father said. “You’ll be safe? Rhaena? Lady Melony?”

“I swear to it.” Melony swept into a dramatic bow. “On the Mother, Maiden, and Crone, by the Father, Son, Smith, and from the Stranger, I will protect Princess Rhaena with my life.” 

“Very well then,” Prince Aenys said, if somewhat uncertainly. “If all is well then—”

“All’s well,” Rhaena and Melony claimed quickly. Rhaena struggled not to look at Melony. 

“Then I shall be on my way,” her father said, sounding confident for the first time since he opened the door. “Rhaena, Lady Melony, I’ll see you at the dinner bell? Washed and presentable?”

“Yes,” Rhaena said. She raised her eyebrows. “My lord father, if—” 

“Yes? Yes, of course.” Her father stepped out, closing the door behind him. The girls waited, listening until his footfalls faded from earshot before dissolving into giggles.

“Oh, his _face_ , Rhaena! He didn’t know where to look, he was so uncomfortable—”

“I was trying so hard not to laugh, that would have given it all away—”

“That was close, for us both—”

“If it had been my mother instead, if he was with baby Aly instead—” Rhaena seized Melony’s hands again, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, marveling at the smoothness. 

“But it wasn’t, and we’ve time to return to the lesson.” Melony yanked her hands away, picking up one of the truncheons. “Back to practicing, princess.”


End file.
